The Lady in Black
by C.Sasaguay
Summary: There are certain people who experience events that forever change their perspective in life. Whether enlightening or terrifying, it shows you a new layer of the world you thought you knew everything about. Unfortunately, I experienced the latter. And I have never been more terrified...


**The Lady in Black**

There are certain people who experience events that forever change their perspective in life. Whether enlightening or terrifying, it shows you a new layer of the world you thought you knew everything about. Unfortunately, I experienced the latter. And I have never been more terrified . . .

It was a year ago, a few days before Halloween, and my mother and younger brother, Dylan, had gone off to the store. I was home alone and busied myself with carving up the last of our pumpkins. It was as I was about to clean up the guts, when I smelled cigarette smoke. Instantly, I got so enraged. My mother had quit smoking a few months beforehand, and she was _not _going to repeat the terrible detox she had to go through to get clean again.

The smoke was coming from right outside the front door. I marched over and swung the door open . . . then stopped.

At the bottom of our porch, stood a woman. She wore an old, black dress and a black-laced veil covered her face. Visible enough, I could see that the right side of her face showed a pale skinned and wrinkled woman. She must have been in her late 60's. Her left side of her face, however, told me a different story.

It was made up of scarred, burnedflesh.

I was obviously taken aback.

"Do you own this house?" she asked me, taking another puff of her cigarette with a gloved hand.

I told her I did.

"My name is Cecelia Beauregard. This was _my _house," she told me. Her eyes started to grow teary. Even her damaged, glassy left eye grew watery.

"I want you to remove that _atrocious _thing over there from my yard," she continued, waving a hand back.

I looked in the direction she was talking about. My eyes landed on a huge, rusty dumpster that sat on the front lawn. It had been there since we moved.

"I'm sorry, this isn't your house anymore," I said carefully. "My mom doesn't like it either, but we don't have the money to move it."

"I see," she replied.

Taking a puff, she hissed, "Get it done . . . or you'll regret it."

She threw her cigarette to the ground, stepped on it, and began to walk away.

I closed the door as fast as I could.

An hour later, my mom and brother finally came home. I didn't want to freak Dylan out, so making sure he couldn't overhear me, I told my mom about the lady in black. She brushed it away though, saying that it was nothing to worry.

Then the next day came.

From my room, as I was waking up, I could hear my mom talking to someone. After a few minutes, I realized who it was.

Cecelia Beauregard.

I got up and hurried over to my mom. I found her standing outside the front door, on the porch. She noticed me and said good morning. Then she turned back to her visitor.

Standing at the bottom of the porch, like before, Cecelia glared at me as I came into her line of vision. Lighting a cigarette, her eyes were unmoving.

"I'm sorry, could you put that out?" my mom asked.

"I see _it's _still here," Cecelia responded, blowing smoke into our faces.

"What is? The . . . the dumpster?" my mom asked, clearly confused, "My son told me you came by yesterday. We _do not_ have the money to move it. I'm sorry that it's clearly a distraction for you."

"Then . . . _get _it," Cecelia ordered.

"Excuse me!" my mom scoffed, "Get off my property."

Cecelia suddenly started screaming. "This is _**my **_property!"

My mom pushed me back. "Go! Now!" she yelled, slamming the door shut.

Cecelia's screams stopped the instant the door closed.

That night, sleep was no easy task.

While I was about to doze off, a shattering noise came from outside my bedroom door. It sounded like a window had been broken somewhere inside my house.

My mom and Dylan beat me to the scene of the crime as I rushed out of bed. A rock lay upon the floor, having been thrown through the window near our front door.

"There's something written on it," Dylan said.

I picked the rock up and saw a word written on one side of it. Then I turned it over and saw another. I was able to put the words together within seconds.

"LAST CHANCE," it read.

Then a burst of flames blinded us. A fire had begun to rage outside our house.

A few hours later, the inferno was nothing more than mere ash.

Looking around, the firefighters had found an empty gasoline can nearby. The fire had _not _been accidental, they told us, someone had purposefully started it, possibly with a match or even . . . a cigarette.

My mom wasn't about to take another risk after that. She called 911 and filed a report. That following day, she had the dumpster removed. At one point, a Policewoman also arrived to check on us.

As my mom and her talked, I walked over to the dead grass where the dumpster had lain. There seemed to be nothing of interest. I kicked the ground in frustration.

Then something caught my eye.

I kneeled down and pushed some of the dead grass away, uncovering what looked like a large, rectangular-shaped stone, implanted in the ground. Only its surface was visible. Dirt covered what looked like words written on the stone. I wiped away as much as I could. Then the words became as clear as day.

Cecelia Beauregard

1921-1988

A Terrible Loss


End file.
